


Catching My Breath (So You Can Take It Away)

by dandeliondidit



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, Gotta Bring These Boys Together First, Hair Stylist Jaskier, Idiots in Love, It's Going To Take A Minute Though, JUST LET THEM BE HAPPY, Just The Right Amount Though, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, So There Will Be Some Angst, These Two Have Suffered Enough, Veterinarian Geralt, but they are dumb, only happy endings here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandeliondidit/pseuds/dandeliondidit
Summary: Geralt blinked a couple of times as his mind took a minute to catch up. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was agreeing to if he said yes. Was it just a friend thing? Was it a date? No, surely not a date. Damn it. He wasn’t good at reading these things.In a another life, in a another time, how would things play out for our witcher and our bard? Perhaps Geralt would busy himself taming monsters of a different kind? Perhaps Jaskier would put his talented hands and impeccable taste to another use? Perhaps they would meet on the coast after all...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 35
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This plot bunny has been hopping around in my head for months, persistently refusing to leave. If for no other reason than my sanity, I'm releasing it here into the wild. I am not a writer by trade, and barely one by hobby, so take that for what you will. Right then, off you go...

The office door chimed as it flew open into the tiny waiting room, startling a fluffy Pomeranian sitting in its owner’s lap. Ciri waved to Miss Vegelbud before walking over to stroke Chester’s snowy white fur and offering an apology for the fright. Milva looked up over the high-top counter and chuckled quietly, watching the smallest sliver of blonde hair hurriedly make its way toward the reception desk. 

“Milva! You will come with me, won’t you? Please?” Ciri asked, head barely visible over the edge of the counter. 

“Slow down, little one, I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Milva replied calmly. Reaching her hand out across the desk, she smoothed down Ciri’s frizzy hair and offered an affectionate smile to accompany the gesture. 

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about! My hair! Do you see this mess? Nothing but frizz. What am I supposed to do with this? Ugggh,” Ciri griped as only a put out thirteen-year-old could. Grabbing a handful of hair, she presented it to Milva as if she’d never been so offended by anything in her life. 

“Well, my dear, you can thank our unwelcome friend humidity for that. Why do you think I always keep mine braided?” Milva smiled, giving a quick flick of her long, golden brown plait. 

“I know, I know. That’s why I’m going to get my hair done tomorrow! Maybe a trim, something cute and short for the summer? I can’t decide. Will you help me? Mom doesn’t want to drive over here to go to ‘some backwater salon’ - her words, not mine.” 

“I thought she always brings you with her to get your hair done at that ridiculously overpriced place in the city?” 

“Yeah, yeah, mother-daughter time and all that, you know. I just kind of felt like changing things up a bit.” Ciri’s gaze shifted around, a light pink dusting her cheeks, clearly embarrassed by what she was about to say. In a voice much lower than before, she managed to whisper, “I want to try this new place not too far from here. All the girls in my grade are talking about it, well, umm, him... actually.” 

“Umm hmm,” Milva hummed, lips turning up in the corner, fondly recalling similar feelings from her youth. 

“Everyone says he’s so cute and super sweet. I can’t possibly go with dad. It will be the worst! You know how embarrassing he can be, especially around me.” 

“I’ll take you.” A voice chimed in from over Ciri’s shoulder. A tiny squeak leapt from her throat before she could catch it, surprised by Geralt’s sudden appearance behind her. Ciri turned, offering a quick “hi dad” and an anxious smile before slowly turning back to face Milva, completely mortified, and mouthing, “please.” 

“I’m sorry, little one. I’m going into the city to meet a friend for lunch. It’s been planned for a while. I’m sure your dad would love to take you, spend some extra time together. Who knows? Maybe he might even get the urge to do something about that mess he calls hair while he’s there.” 

“I’ll have you know that the patients all love my hair,” Geralt snipped back without much bite, re-adjusting the elastic holding his hair away from his face. 

“Your patients are animals, Geralt. I’m not sure that speaks much in your favor,” Milva quipped, clearly pleased with herself. 

Ciri snorted, barely able to keep her laughter at bay. 

“Ouch,” Geralt huffed, feigning indignance as he ran his hands over his hair to smooth down any strays. The effort was mostly in vain as the premature grays continued poking up amongst the chocolate brown strands gathered loosely behind his head. “I’m not sure I should be paying you to talk to me like that.”

“You’re not paying me at all! I volunteer here because I love the animals. Plus, you do better under supervision. If I’m not here, who will watch you when Ciri isn’t around?” 

“Okay, okay,” Geralt offered, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I never win these battles with you anyway.” 

“I have years of practice in dealing with you after all. Losing these battles is a small price to pay for the pleasure of my company.” 

Milva’s words rang true. Geralt would never be able to repay her for everything she’d done for him over the years. When he and Yennefer decided to part ways, Geralt left a lot behind to leave the city. Milva was always around to lend a hand and help him sort things out, get him out of his own head and back to the world around him. She was one of his oldest and dearest friends. Milva never minced words and Geralt loved that about her. Straight to the point with a good head on her shoulders, qualities he appreciated more than she would ever know. 

“So where is this I’m taking you, monster?” Geralt pivoted, changing the subject away from himself as quickly as possible. 

“Dad! Don’t call me that in public!” Ciri protested, turning around to stare daggers at Geralt. “I’m not a little kid anymore.” 

“I know, I know, but the term seems more apt than ever these days.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ciri pouted. With a huff, she crossed her arms and made the utmost effort to look menacing, but the result was more akin to an angry chipmunk. 

“You couldn’t be more like your mother if you tried,” Geralt chuckled, poking Ciri in one of her puffed out cheeks. 

“Milva! Help me out here, please!” 

“Will you look at the time,” Milva exclaimed, taking a quick glance at her watch. “I’m off. Give him a chance, little one. He doesn’t mean to be dumb. It just comes naturally to him. Geralt, behave. I know you don’t know what it’s like to be a teenage girl, but I do. Don’t make me have to explain it to you in long, excruciating detail. I know how you so love those chats.” 

“Fair enough. How about I just promise to stay quiet? I’m pretty good at that when I want to be. A fly on the wall, if you will,” Geralt offered, pretending to zip his lips. 

Ciri looked doubtful as Milva got up to give her a quick hug before heading out for the day. Ciri took Milva’s place behind the counter, leaning back in the plush office chair and looking up at the ceiling, resigned to her fate. 

“Alright, Miss Vegelbud, let’s bring Chester back. Time for someone to get his shots,” Geralt greeted, reaching out his broad, upturned palm to offer Chester a scratch under the chin. The tiny white ball of energy leaned in happily to the welcome affection. Geralt wasn’t sure if dogs loved him more or it was the other way around.

* * *

After a few routine vaccinations and a wellness check for Chester, Geralt finished up for the afternoon. He tidied up the exam room and got things ready for Monday as Ciri finished up the last few chapters of the book she had been reading. He was more than happy to see to the patient rooms himself since Milva managed the front of the office. She did too much for him already and asked nothing in return, under no circumstance was he going to ask her to help clean up after the animals. On more than one occasion Milva had not so subtly hinted that he should hire someone to help, but Geralt truly didn’t mind the dirty work, and in some small way felt satisfaction in seeing to things himself. Everything had settled into place nicely with the new veterinary office and the move from the city. Ciri had adapted well to the changes and quickly fell into a comfortable routine. It felt nice to be back on track again after starting fresh in a new place. 

It had never been Geralt’s plan to live in the city in the first place. He met Yennefer shortly after finishing vet school, when she was already well on her way up the corporate ladder with no sign of stopping. Honestly, Geralt didn’t want her to stop either. He loved that about her. Her sheer drive and ambition, the power to keep going when everyone else had given up. She was enchanting in a way that captured him and wouldn’t let go. In the end, he decided to stay. The city never quite felt like home though, despite the years they spent there together, fifteen or so if he remembered correctly. He was along for the ride as Yennefer led the way, as things usually went between them. Such was life, or so he thought. He hadn't hated the city and all its trappings initially. He felt it could even grow on him, but years passed and over time the bright lights dimmed, and the traffic noise grated. 

When they welcomed Ciri into their home, Geralt felt the darkness drain away. Ciri was the illuminating spark that brought fire back to his eyes, something he hadn’t felt in longer than he cared to remember. He was at peace for a time. However, as the years flew by, he could feel Ciri needing him less and less as she grew into a capable young woman. Slowly, the darkness crept in around the edges and Geralt felt the endless grind of the day to day etch itself into his bones once again. Much like his desire to continue going along with all of Yennefer’s whims, he wanted it all to stop. There was never a big fight, or pivotal point, or anything so grand in nature that caused things to change between them. It was more a gradual slip into the realization that their journey together had reached a fork in the road, and the natural course was for each to take their own path. 

Yennefer wanted to stay in the city. Her life was there, her job was there, everything she had grown to know and love. She fed off of the chaos, thrived even. Geralt, on the other hand, felt as if something were slowly sucking out his soul and leaving a hollow shell in its place. He also thought of Ciri, her life, her feelings, her above all else. Many long talks with Yennefer and a couple of internal battles later, they decided that the best thing for Ciri would be what allowed her the best version of both of her parents. 

In the end, a move to the quiet little coastal town just an hour outside of the city proved the perfect cure for all that ailed. Close enough for Ciri to be near both of her parents, but far enough away for Geralt to be free from the hustle and bustle of big city life and the dread it dredged up within him. Thankfully, bringing his veterinary business to the small town hadn’t proven as challenging an endeavor as he first imagined. Several of his long-term clients followed him through the move and new clients slowly trickled in. It wasn’t even a year before business was back to usual and time sped along as if nothing had ever changed. Things had changed though, and for the first time in a long time Geralt felt like he was back on solid ground after wading through a swamp. 

“Dad,” Ciri chirped, popping her head into the room and pulling him away from his thoughts. “All finished. Need any help?” 

“Not a bit, just finished up here myself. Care to elaborate on the plan for tomorrow? The only thing I know is that you don’t want me to go and Milva has threatened me in advance, so I’m not sure how worried I should be.” 

“Don’t be dramatic, dad,” Ciri teased, rolling her eyes and flopping down in the chair next to the door. “Why did you agree to take me in the first place if you didn’t even know what you were agreeing to?” 

“You know I’d agree to anything for you, monster.” 

“Daaaaaad. Please tell me you will absolutely not call me that while we’re there.” 

“You’ve always loved the nickname, why so prickly now? It’s the teenage thing, right? I knew it was going to be a problem. Can I get a refund? Maybe an exchange for five-year-old Ciri? Although, she was quite the firecracker too, come to think of it,” Geralt chuckled, scratching at the stubble beginning to make a shadow on his chin. 

“Pffftt. Nothing you could do about it even if you wanted to! You know I still love you, just don’t embarrass me. Which, by the way, I don’t think is only a teenage thing. It’s more of a general person thing, not wanting to be embarrassed and all,” Ciri teased back, looking up and meeting her father’s doting eyes. 

“Fair enough,” Geralt conceded, opening his arms in hopes of a hug. “Can I still get one of these if no one is around?” 

“For you, always,” Ciri smiled, lifting herself out of the chair. A few small steps later, Geralt wrapped his arms around her and gave tiny squeeze. Ciri felt his warmth seep into her skin as she relaxed into the embrace. 

“Now tell me about this new hair place I heard you whispering about with Milva. Something about a boy?” 

“I wouldn't say he’s a boy, dad. He’s probably almost as old as you. He has a name too - Jaskier.”

“I seriously doubt that, and Jaskier... what kind of name is that?” Geralt asked, one eyebrow raised in genuine confusion. “Now I have even more reason to be concerned. I guess it’s a good thing I’m going after all.” 

“Going quietly, remember?” Ciri reminded emphatically, poking Geralt in the side as she slipped free from the hug and made her way out of the room. 

“Not a peep!” Geralt agreed, smiling as he leaned around the corner so Ciri could hear. “Are baby photos okay though?” 

“DAD!!!”

* * *

Geralt had hoped for a lazy Saturday morning filled with extra sleep and a cup or two of coffee, but the unrelenting, wet tongue lapping at his ear signaled Roach had other plans. Geralt groaned as he rolled over and scratched her behind her big, floppy beagle ear. 

“Okay, okay. I can take a hint,” he grumbled as Roach rolled onto her back, vying for a tummy rub. “Ciri can take you out too, you know. It would serve her right to have you wake her up instead of me, considering she’s the one that wanted to stay up so late binging that baking show. Too late now though, I’m already up. Let me toss on some clothes and we’ll head out.” 

Geralt fished around in his dresser and pulled out the first pieces of clothing that seemed passable for a morning dog walk – an old pair of red track shorts and a heather gray tank top that had seen better days. It was barely the first month of summer and the heat was killer already. It wasn’t likely that many people would be out and about this early on the weekend to judge him anyway. Even if they were, the last thing they cared about was what a middle-aged man was wearing to walk his dog, as long as he was at least wearing something. He pulled his hair back into a messy ponytail and took a quick peek in the mirror. Could be better, could be worse? 

Geralt tossed his keys into his pocket, threw on his comfiest flip-flops, and clipped Roach’s leash onto her collar. Ciri slept peacefully, blissfully unaware that anyone else was even awake. The humidity hit as soon as he stepped outside, even at this ungodly hour. Geralt could feel sweat forming on his chest before he and Roach made it to the beach. The sun was just beginning its journey into the sky, and only a few people could be seen walking leisurely along the coastline. Others were busying themselves with metal detectors, searching for the hidden treasures the waves had scooped up over the course of the previous day and deposited in the sand overnight. 

It wasn’t until Geralt felt an unusual slack on Roach’s leash that he snapped back to reality and noticed she had taken off down the beach after someone. He suddenly realized that, in the midst of his grogginess, he must not have fastened her leash properly when they left the house. She had been excitedly tugging at the lead on the way over and all the while it was slowly coming undone. The last big pull must have finally unclipped it and he’d been too sleepy to notice. 

“ROACH,” Geralt yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone to amplify the sound. He took off in a sprint, running rather ungracefully as one does in flip-flops on dry sand. “Roach! Down, girl!” 

Geralt finally caught up to the overexcited beagle and the unsuspecting runner she had just accosted as she began pawing at his leg. Slightly mortified, Geralt tugged Roach back by the collar and clipped on her leash - properly this time. He reached down to give her a calming pat on the back and encourage her to sit. 

“I’m so sorry, she’s usually pretty laid back. She’s also usually on a leash, but I seem to have managed to mess that up somehow. She might have smelled something on you, who knows?” Geralt apologized, scratching lightly at the back of his neck, embarrassed by the entire incident. 

Roach’s victim offered a small laugh as he brushed the sand from his legs. “It’s not entirely her fault. It’s probably the bread in my pants.” 

“Excuse me?” Geralt blurted out, clearly confused. 

“The bread in my pants,” the man admitted shyly, reaching into his pocket and producing a torn off chunk of French baguette. 

Geralt quirked an eyebrow as he tried his hardest not to laugh. 

“Do you always run with bread in your pants?” 

“Maybe, but it’s not for me!” 

The man blushed a bit as he tossed his head to the side and brushed his slightly mussed, honey-brown hair from his forehead with the back of his hand. The action drew Geralt’s attention as he followed the curve of the runner’s arm down to his chest where he suddenly became very aware that the other man had no shirt on. His svelte frame showed that running was a routine endeavor. Geralt swallowed quietly when he found himself staring a little too long at the surprising amount of hair dusting the man’s chest. 

“I bring it to feed birds while I’m on my run.” 

“You really shouldn’t, you know,” Geralt replied, clearing his throat and feeling a bit caught out. 

“What? Run with bread in my pants? I know, it probably looks a bit odd, but the birds seem to like it, so I can’t help myself.” 

“No, I mean, feed the birds bread. It’s bad for them. They don't get proper nutrients from it and it can actually hurt them, especially if they eat it regularly.” 

“That’s a terrible joke and a mean way to make fun of me when I don’t even know you.” 

“Why on earth would I make fun of you? I’m trying to help. Since you clearly like birds, I figure you probably would appreciate not inadvertently killing them. I also like to think I know a bit about animals seeing as I’m a veterinarian.” 

“Uh huh,” the man replied, giving Geralt a once-over. “You don’t look like any veterinarian I’ve ever seen.”

“And what would that look like? Is there some sort of veterinarian style guide I don’t know about?” 

“Well, I don’t know exactly, but I think maybe a bit less like the guy that sits outside the local surf shop offering advice about board wax and surf conditions to passersby.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just woke up after a late night. Not everyone can look like-” Geralt quipped back, waving a hand to the other man’s general appearance, “before 7AM on a Saturday morning.” 

“Thank you. Sorry. I mean... no offense meant, that was a bit much. I tend to do that at times, sorry. Not knowing when to stop talking and all. It happens frequently. I just get caught up in the moment and there I go. At work, out with friends, at the grocery store, wa-”

“Now.”

“Now, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not even awake enough yet to really be bothered.” 

“I’m Julian, by the way,” the man smiled, reaching out his hand as a peace offering. “I’m pretty new to the area. I mean, I lived not too far away from here when I was younger, but it’s been a long time now. I’m just getting settled in, and don’t really know many people yet, but I’d like to start getting out there and meeting some new friends. I’ve been so busy with work and getting unpacked and-” 

“Geralt.” 

The interruption was perfectly placed with no hint of animosity behind it. Geralt extended his hand to accept the handshake and was surprised to find Julian’s grip firmer than expected. He felt his lips turn up slightly in the corner, but Julian didn’t indicate that he thought much of it, if he had even noticed. 

“Geralt,” Julian repeated, glancing up to meet the other man’s warm and inviting, hazel eyes. “That’s a unique name. I haven’t heard it before. I like it.” 

“Thanks,” Geralt replied, glancing away as he let go of Julian’s hand. He felt long, slender fingers glide across his palm and could have sworn they lingered, but he was still too sleepy to be certain it wasn’t just his imagination. They stayed like that for a moment, neither one sure how to continue the conversation without being awkward. 

“Can she have it?” Julian broke the silence, squatting down to pet Roach. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“The bread. Can she have it? Seeing as how she’s been sitting here so patiently, and I can’t give it to the birds as planned.” 

“Yeah, sure. Every so often is fine. She’ll love you forever.” 

Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out the treat, tearing it into a few smaller chunks and offering it to Roach. She jumped at the chance, making short work of the food that had been offered. 

“I’m sorry again for what I said before. I’m not an ass, I promise. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain and well...” Julian trailed off, looking up to find Geralt staring down at him. 

Geralt felt his breath hitch as they made eye contact. The sun had come up enough and the angle was just right to get his first real look at Julian’s eyes. Even in the muted light of the early morning, they sparkled like the sun reflecting across the water. They were such a beautiful shade of blue. He wasn’t sure the color even had a name. It was uniquely Julian. If Geralt were a different man, a braver man, he might have told him as much. 

“Her name is Roach, if you were wondering,” Geralt chimed in, disappointed that he couldn’t think of anything better to say. 

“I gathered. I did hear you yelling it as you ran toward us. Another interesting name,” Julian chuckled as he gave Roach one last pat on the head before standing up and brushing off one last time. 

“Right,” Geralt replied, kicking himself for letting the conversation fall flat. 

“So, like I said, I’m new here and don’t really know anyone. Would you like to grab a coffee or something sometime?” Julian offered, coming to the conversation’s rescue. “Maybe I’ll even be able to keep my foot out of my mouth long enough to prove the whole not being an ass thing.” 

Geralt blinked a couple of times as his mind took a minute to catch up. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was agreeing to if he said yes. Was it just a friend thing? Was it a date? No, surely not a date. Damn it. He wasn’t good at reading these things. 

“I, ummm, I’m not... I... I,” Geralt mumbled, not realizing he had been speaking out loud as he turned the thoughts over in his mind. 

“Yeah, I uh... well, I misread that. Thanks for chat and introducing me to this sweet girl here,” Julian interrupted before things got worse. “I’ll see you around, Geralt.”

Before Geralt knew what hit him, Julian was gone, running full speed down the shore as quickly as his legs could take him. If he were smart, far away from Geralt. Talk about being an ass. He had no idea what the hell just happened. Whatever it was came out of nowhere, knocked the breath out of him, and went on its merry way. Geralt slowly sat down in the sand next to Roach and watched listlessly as the waves lapped at the shore and the sun crept up over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE! The lovely [behind-the-sin](https://behind-the-sin.tumblr.com) has created some fabulous art inspired by this chapter! Check it out [here](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2ea780c041dbe53f0593255eefa32ecb/024aa1384bf5d340-01/s1280x1920/6a025689bfa94a6651e1db75c300a3e7fb14c16d.jpg)! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the hell was he thinking? Julian? No one called him that anymore. Hell, he hadn’t even thought of himself as “Julian” in as long as he could remember. The name was a ghost from a lifetime ago, a time when the weight of the world pressed heavily on his shoulders, and carrying it proved a burden he was unable to bear.

Jaskier didn’t know what had come over him. He found himself sprinting through the sand as if he were being chased again, but this time there wasn’t a dog in sight. His shoes etched imprints into the shoreline as he made his way from Geralt’s sight as fast as his feet could take him. Chest tightening uncomfortably, he felt his breathing grow ragged as a pit of uncertainty began pooling in his stomach. He slowed to a light jog for as long as he could manage before taking a minute to catch his breath, trying his hardest to push the flood of uninvited, intrusive thoughts away. He spotted a storm-damaged palm near the dunes and propped himself against it, no energy to move. Dropping his head to his chest, he watched as beads of sweat pooled together before rolling off to form tiny craters in the sand below. As the sun cleared the horizon, he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of waves crashing along the coastline as a tiny bird sang its morning song from a nearby bush. Jaskier allowed the sounds to soothe him as he fought the urge to cry. 

What the hell was he thinking? Julian? No one called him that anymore. Hell, he hadn’t even thought of himself as “Julian” in as long as he could remember. The name was a ghost from a lifetime ago, a time when the weight of the world pressed heavily on his shoulders, and carrying it proved a burden he was unable to bear. Leaving “Julian” behind meant leaving behind the life that had been chosen for him, the life he had eventually achieved through sacrifice and struggle. Julian’s life had been laid out for him since birth. While he was still crawling around in diapers and learning to walk, his parents had been busy planning out his future. They mapped out all the milestones and memories to be made, schools to attend, and social circles to join, reducing it all to a series of dots and faintly marked dashes - the outline for his life. As far as they were concerned, he just needed to be a good boy - connect the dots and color inside the lines. 

He tried to make his parents proud, do his best, he really did, but as the picture came to life, he realized their best laid plans had been for naught. Gradually, the image that formed in front of him looked less like a self-portrait and more like abstract art. The longer he looked at it, the less he understood it, and the less he had the desire to contribute to its completion. Turning 30 and turning his back on everything he had pursued his entire life brought many realizations. His parent’s plan of a successful career (following in his father’s footsteps, of course), a wife (there was a lot to unpack there), 2.5 kids (seemed like too many) had vanished into the wind along with “Julian”. He was no longer the person of his youth. He was no longer the person that colored inside the lines. He was Jaskier now - the person that left the confines of familiarity and comfort to venture out on his own, the person that threw the map out the window and refused to ask for directions, the person that fucked up chance meetings with incredibly interesting strangers. Fuck. He really couldn’t have screwed that situation up any worse if he had tried. 

Pulling himself out of an inevitable spiral of self-doubt, Jaskier stood and brushed the sand from his shorts and bits of loose bark from his back. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. It was going to be a long day, and he needed to be going. A well-deserved shower and cup of coffee were in order if he was going to make it through the day, which at this point couldn’t possibly get any worse. 

* * *

Geralt tossed his keys and sunglasses onto the table by the door before reaching down and unhooking Roach’s leash from her collar. A bit exhausted from her romp on the beach, Roach gave a few quick circles around her favorite pillow before lazily curling herself into a ball and closing her eyes.

“Good idea,” Geralt agreed, reaching down to give Roach a quick scratch behind her ear before heading toward his own room. “Thanks to your little adventure, it feels like it’s been an entire day already and it’s barely 8AM.” 

“Something happen on the walk?” Ciri’s sleepy voice chimed in from underneath the mountain of blankets and pillows piled up on the couch. 

Geralt visibly jumped before turning back toward the living room and the tiny, hoarse voice that had startled him. 

“You know, it’s like you appear out of thin air sometimes, monster. I’m beginning to think you have some sort of special ability I don’t know about,” Geralt laughed, walking over and pulling the layers of Ciri’s makeshift cocoon onto the floor. “I’m getting too old for you to scare me like that.” 

“Dad, you’re barely 40, you’re fine,” Ciri grumbled, snatching up the remaining pillow to shield her eyes from the sudden, unexpected flood of light. 

“I didn’t even realize you were in here, of course you scared me. When Roach and I left for our walk, you were asleep in your room, dead to the world.” 

“I forgot to turn my alarm off,” Ciri groaned, removing the pillow from her face and forcing herself to sit up. “We stayed up too late last night to be awake this early. I tried to get up, and I made it to the couch, but then all the fuzzy blankets called to me. Who was I to resist?” 

“Next time you insist on staying up until 2AM binging a show, I get the fuzzy blankets and you can take Roach on her morning walk,” Geralt teased, plopping down next to Ciri on the couch. 

These were the times Geralt loved the most. Lazy Saturday mornings, joking around, chatting, and just spending time together. He’d really missed it over the last year. Ever since the divorce, Ciri shared time between both he and Yen, but for Geralt, that meant only seeing her every other weekend when school was in session. Yen had insisted Ciri attend the best private school in the city and wouldn’t accept no for an answer. Although he wished he could see his daughter more often during the school year, it simply wasn’t feasible to drive back and forth every week with everyone’s hectic schedules. Not to mention Geralt knew how to pick his battles with Yennefer, and this was not a war he wished to fight, because it was one he would surely lose. He also couldn’t argue that it truly was the best option for Ciri, and he wasn’t going to be the one to take her from the only school she’d ever attended and all the friend’s she’d grown up with. He reminded himself not to dwell on the time they’d spent apart over the past year and instead focused on the time they would have together over the summer ahead. In that, their arrangement did have its benefits. Ciri’s summer breaks would be spent with Geralt, and he couldn’t have been looking forward to it more. It was the first summer with just the two of them and he intended to make it count. 

* * *

“Where is this place again?” Geralt asked, half-heartedly looking around for his misplaced cell phone. “I want to see how long until we need to leave.”

“It’s downtown, near that coffee shop you like. The salon is called The Chameleon, shouldn’t be hard to find,” Ciri answered from the kitchen table, polishing off the last of her lunch as she mindlessly scrolled on her phone. 

“The Chameleon? Interesting name for a salon,” Geralt offered, searching though the papers cluttering the counter on the offhand chance his phone was lost in the fray. “Wait. Do you mean where that seedy, run-down bar used to be?” 

“Maybe?” Ciri mused, not entirely sure since she’d only seen it in passing. 

“Good, I don’t need my phone then. I know the area well enough.” 

“Dad, you need your phone. You never have it when you need it,” Ciri chided, “I’m always having to text Milva just to get in touch with you when you’re at work. It’s super annoying. Let me try calling you.” 

“Don’t bother. Last time I saw it, it was almost dead, and that was yesterday.” 

“You know, for a really smart guy, you do a lot of silly things, dad. That’s why Milva’s always on your case.” 

“Milva doesn’t need a reason to harass me. I’m pretty sure she does it just for fun. Anyway, we didn’t have cell phones when I was your age and we survived. It’s not a big deal. Plus, you have your phone, don’t you?” Geralt challenged, lifting the couch cushions in the continued search for his missing device. “I can’t find it now anyway. It will turn up eventually.” 

“Maybe even working too,” Ciri snickered, “that is if you didn’t wash it again.” 

“That only happened once.” 

“You’ve only washed one once. You also lost one that time we went camping, and somehow managed to close another in the tailgate of your truck,” Ciri teased, making a closing motion with her hands accompanied by a crunching sound. 

“Okay, okay. I get the point,” Geralt sighed, before giving up his search and sitting down next to Ciri. “That may or may not have anything to do with my hatred of cell phones.” 

“Or everything to do with it,” Ciri grinned, adding a wink of affection. 

“Fine. Now, if you’re done having fun at my expense, let’s head out. You know how parking is downtown.” 

* * *

“Of course, it’s the arts and crafts fair this weekend,” Geralt lamented as he drove around in an endless loop looking for a place to park.

“Just swing back around near the building and I’ll hop out. I’m going to be late if this takes any longer,” Ciri urged, grabbing her bag and checking herself in the mirror for good measure. 

“If you insist. I’ll be there as soon as I find a place to park. I’ll probably grab a coffee on the way. Want anything?” 

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks, dad,” Ciri replied, climbing out of the passenger seat and shutting the door behind her. 

Letting his fatherly instinct get the better of him, Geralt rolled down the window and shouted, “Hey, Ciri, if this guy’s weird or anything, just leave and call me.” 

“And how exactly would I do that Mr. I Don’t Need A Phone?” Ciri shot back, exaggeratingly throwing her hands up in mock frustration before waving him on. 

Before Geralt could answer, a loud horn erupted from behind his truck. The man that had been stopped in the car behind him was done playing the waiting game on the narrow one-way street. Geralt gave an apologetic wave as he started moving, once again in search of a parking spot, and subsequently a much-needed cup of coffee. 

* * *

Geralt hadn’t been downtown in a couple of months, but sure enough the rundown bar that had once stood on the corner opposite the coffee shop was gone. The building had been completely renovated and looked nothing like its former self. Gone was the dark façade with bars on the windows, tacky sign, and stains on the sidewalk out front. In its place was a bright, freshly painted building with crisp lines and modern finishes - the salon with a sign that read “The Chameleon”. As far as Geralt was concerned, anything was better than what was there before, but this was a significant improvement. Every business on the street was probably ecstatic at the new salon’s arrival. He spotted Ciri waving through the window and stepped inside to check things out.

It was Geralt’s first time in the place, but he’d seen enough bars in his day to know the previous establishment looked nothing like what he was seeing now. The entire room was aglow, warm and welcoming, yet incredibly simple. And clean, spotlessly clean, almost surgical in a way, but still inviting. The duality of it set Geralt’s senses on fire. The cool tones with pops of color-shifting paint fit perfectly with the chameleon theme of the shop. It was familiar in a way that Geralt wasn’t sure a salon should make him feel. 

“Hey, you,” Geralt smiled, walking over and leaning against the wall near where Ciri was seated. “Sorry that took so long. I had to park a mile away. Everything good?” 

Ciri nodded with a look that said _I will never speak to you again if you embarrass me_. “Jaskier’s in the back. He just went to mix up a hair mask, said he’ll be right back.” 

Geralt nodded, making a zipper motion over his lips to reassure Ciri that he remembered his promise from the previous day. “I’m just going to grab a seat by the door. Let me know if you need anything.” 

No sooner than Geralt had turned to walk back toward the door, he froze. The subtle scent of mint mixed with fresh fruit and a hint of vanilla, filled the air. It smelled like summer and sweets and was still very fresh in his memory. 

“I’m sorry, Ciri, that took longer than expected. I needed to open a bottle and I misplaced my-,” Jaskier stopped mid-sentence, staring at the man that had just appeared in his shop. His clothing was very different, but his hair was unmistakable. Jaskier blinked quickly as his brain took a second to reboot. He wasn’t ready for whatever was about to happen, but it was happening, like it or not. He took a deep breath to steady his voice before opening his mouth to speak. “Geralt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, a cliffhanger! Urrrgh. As you can imagine, a whole thing's about to happen. If you’re enjoying the fic, feel free to drop me a line here or over on [tumblr](https://dandeliondidit.tumblr.com).  
>   
> Big thanks once again to my darling [elviehun](https://elviehun.tumblr.com) for being the best beta a girl could hope for. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier paused briefly as he led Geralt up the small staircase to his apartment. His new place above the salon was nothing to write home about on a good day, and much less so in its current state. In retrospect, he probably should have thought things over a bit longer before insisting that Geralt come upstairs to change. Cleaning products, half-emptied moving boxes, and pieces of furniture sat about randomly, leaving barely any room to get around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking a month to update! I threw so many self-indulgent things into this chapter that I took way longer than I had planned to finish it. It's here now though and that's what counts, right? ;)

Geralt felt a chill run up his spine at the surprisingly familiar voice calling his name from the other side of the salon. A rush of anticipation washed over him as he realized the feeling was welcome, albeit unexpected. That mattered little, however, when he noticed the freshly brewed cup of coffee he had been holding was slipping from his grasp to the floor. Geralt watched in horror as the cup detached from the lid and a waterfall of dark brown liquid cascaded toward the ground, spilling the entirety of its contents onto the shiny, white surface below. 

“Shit.” Geralt cursed, stepping to the side and turning around slowly. A reflexive wince spread across his face accompanied by a light pink tinge that tinted his otherwise pale skin. 

“Dad!” Ciri exclaimed, mortified by the entire series of events. 

“Dad?” Jaskier chimed in, eyes darting back and forth between the two. 

“Sorry,” Geralt apologized, looking around in dismay at the mess he had caused. “Sorry. I... um, Julian?” He glanced up sheepishly, catching Jaskier’s brilliant blue eyes with his own. 

“Julian?” Ciri questioned, turning herself around in the chair to survey the damage. “What is happening? I’m very confused.” 

Geralt looked over to meet his daughter’s eyes in a silent plea – _please_ _just give_ _us_ _a second_. 

Jaskier sat down the mixing bowl and reached into a nearby cabinet for some towels, taking care not to betray his own nervousness. As he made his way over to the spill, he gave himself an internal pep talk, saying a silent prayer that Geralt wouldn’t notice his hands shaking. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi,” Geralt replied, bending down to pick up the empty cup and discarded lid to toss them into the nearby trash can. “I’m so sorry about the coffee. It just slipped. I don’t -” 

“Not a problem,” Jaskier interrupted, tossing several towels onto the tile below before handing one to his unexpected guest. “I have more towels than I know what to do with, and the floor is easy to clean. On the other hand, I’m not quite willing to say the same for your lovely clothes.” 

Geralt glanced down, seemingly only just then noticing his pants and shoes had borne the brunt of the spill. Dark brown splotches and streaks covered him from the waist down. The outfit Ciri picked out for him had survived approximately one hour of wear. He cringed knowing he was never going to hear the end of it. _Did Julian just say his clothes were lovely?_

Jaskier caught himself staring and crouched down to tend to the puddle that was busy transforming itself into tiny rivers in the grout lines of the floor. Gone were Geralt’s flip flops, tank top, and track shorts from the morning, having been replaced by something altogether more appealing... _Preppy c_ _hambray_ _boat_ _shoes_ _._ _White slacks_ _cuffed at the bottom_ _. C_ _uffed._ _A_ _nicely fitting_ _blu_ _e_ _gray_ _button-up_ _shirt_ _tha_ _t_ _accentuated the middle-aged man’s_ _fine points_ _in_ _precisely the_ _righ_ _t_ _places_ _._ _S_ _leeves rolled up_ _and_ _buttons undone_ _j_ _ust enough to_ _show_ _hints of_ _graying chest_ _hair pee_ _king_ _from underneath. Maybe most surprising_ _, however,_ _was the small wolf-head pendant hanging from a delicate silver chain._

“I still feel bad though,” Geralt apologized once again, bending down to aid in the cleanup effort and startling Jaskier from his silent reverie. “I feel like I’ve thrown your whole day off.” 

“It’s fine, truly. I’m no stranger to surprises, can’t seem to escape them in fact,” Jaskier reassured, pausing briefly as the back of their hands accidentally brushed against one another, the slight touch sending goosebumps racing across the stylist’s arm. Both men glanced up, catching each other’s eyes for only a brief second before awkwardness set in. Jaskier attempted to quietly clear his throat but ended up only drawing attention to his embarrassment. “And you, Geralt, are indeed a surprise. I didn’t expect I would see you again, much less twice in one day.” 

“Do you two know each other?” Ciri interrupted, letting curiosity get the better of her. A quizzical look danced across her face as she continued watching the veritable comedy of errors playing out in front of her - two grown men frantically wiping coffee from the floor and fumbling over themselves. 

“More like just met,” Geralt explained, giving the surface one more swipe with the towel for good measure. “He’s the guy I was telling you about from this morning. The one Roach chased down the beach.” 

“Ohhhhh,” Ciri offered, thinking back to the conversation with her dad from this morning and trying her best not to laugh. “Bread in the pants?” 

Jaskier pretended not to be embarrassed as he and Geralt scooped up the soiled rags and carried them to the nearest sink - a bit of bleach and they’d be good as new. “Was it _really_ necessary to include that bit? I was trying to be a good Samaritan, after all.” 

“I felt it was relevant to the story,” Geralt chuckled softly, rinsing his hands and drying them on his already ruined pants. “Roach wouldn’t have chased you otherwise. Plus, I can’t deny it was hilarious.” He looked up expecting to find offense, but the stylist’s face betrayed nothing of the sort. Julian’s eyes were soft, a fondness and flicker of fire Geralt did not expect beamed back at him - he felt seen. He wasn’t normally one to tease, but damn if the younger man didn’t bring out the urge in him. Geralt was decidedly out of his comfort zone. 

Ciri, wise beyond her years, felt the invisible tension in the atmosphere and stepped in to smooth things out. “Don’t worry, you’re probably the hundredth person dad has lectured about feeding bread to birds. I wouldn’t take it personally, he’s naturally a bit of a grump.” 

Jaskier almost snorted at the larger, slightly intimidating man being called out so casually by his daughter. _Teenage daughter_ _. Fabulous J_ _askier, hitting on a married man with a family_ _._

Geralt gave an exasperated sigh, shrugging off Ciri’s spot-on assessment with a lopsided smile. 

"Ah, well, I’d rather not go around unknowingly killing off the local bird population, so I’d say all’s well that ends well,” Jaskier added, returning to his mixing bowl and Ciri’s hair. “Let’s get your treatment going and then we’ll see about getting your father cleaned up before those stains set in.” 

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. They’re just clothes.” 

“Dad! Those are brand new pants!” Ciri argued, glaring at her dad’s reflection in the mirror with a look that would make her mother proud. “It took me forever to get you to buy a few decent outfits. I can’t deal with you at the mall again.” Even Ciri realized she was being a bit dramatic but needs must. 

“At least we agree on that. I never want to set foot in a mall again as long as I live,” Geralt conceded, taking his turn at being dramatic. “But what do you expect me to do? It’s not like I brought a change of clothes.” 

Jaskier gleefully chimed in, pushing the exceedingly amusing mental image of Geralt at the mall out of his mind. “My place is upstairs. You’re welcome to borrow a pair of pants so you can drop yours at the cleaners down the street,” Jaskier offered, gesturing to the staircase tucked away in the back corner of the salon. 

Geralt gave a quick assessment of himself and the stylist just to confirm what he already knew. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t exactly think we’re the same size.” 

“But we are almost the same height,” Jaskier replied cheerfully, letting a bit of his optimistic nature shine through. Without thinking, he turned around and winked at Geralt. _Fuck._ Turning on the charm to overshadow his anxiety, a tried-and-true Julian move. “Plus, that's what sweatpants are for!” 

Ciri couldn’t help but laugh. “See dad, your favorite!” 

“I find it hard to believe you own sweatpants,” Geralt snickered, looking around at the posh salon and the man that owned it. He felt his breath hitch. _Form fitting_ _b_ _aby blue chino shorts_ _that_ _stop_ _ped_ _well above the middle of his thigh_ _,_ _quit_ _e_ _possibly the perfect length_ _for_ _accentuating his runner’s physique. Casual_ _brown_ _oxfords_ _with a matching belt_ _,_ _and a_ _very thin_ _white_ _V-neck_ _tee tucked in ever so slightly in the front._

“We all have our guilty pleasures, don’t we?” Jaskier confessed, words slipping out like honey. 

* * *

Jaskier paused briefly as he led Geralt up the small staircase to his apartment. His new place above the salon was nothing to write home about on a good day, and much less so in its current state. In retrospect, he probably should have thought things over a bit longer before insisting that Geralt come upstairs to change. Cleaning products, half-emptied moving boxes, and pieces of furniture sat about randomly, leaving barely any room to get around. 

“Excuse the mess,” Jaskier apologized, scooting some boxes to the side to clear a small path. “I’m still getting settled, and I’ve been focusing most of my time on getting the salon set up. Things have been a bit crazy between moving to the new place, and work, and I had to have the-” 

“You’re doing it again,” Geralt chimed in, interrupting Jaskier’s stream of consciousness explanation in the kindest way possible. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Rambling.” 

“Sorry.” Jaskier frowned apologetically, his tiny whisper of a voice seemingly seeking forgiveness where none was required. 

“Don’t be, it’s oddly endearing,” Geralt reassured, a soft smile pulling at his lips before he caught himself. _Damn it_. Was oversharing contagious because why in the hell did that come out of his mouth? 

“I... ummm. Good. Right. Pants! Let’s get you changed before I get myself pulled into the fray as well,” Jaskier fumbled, not sure how to respond without saying something he’d regret. He opened to door to his bedroom, grimacing at the state of the place as he gestured for the slightly taller man to go inside. “I’m quite certain your daughter is a force to be reckoned with.” 

Geralt brushed past Jaskier as he stepped cautiously into the room and was taken aback by the sheer number of clothing items strewn about the tiny space - various pants, shirts, underwear, and the like were scattered about as if a bomb had exploded. He wouldn’t judge though, his newfound acquaintance was being exceedingly helpful, despite Geralt’s inadvertent attempts at sabotaging his day. “Ciri means well, it’s just she’s taken it upon herself to take care of me in her own way since the divorce. I’m the one in her crosshairs, not you. I’m pretty sure you’re safe.” 

At the mere mention of the word ‘divorce’ _,_ Jaskier’s ears perked up like an animal sensing prey. He stepped inside the cramped space next to Geralt and schooled his features, letting a pause linger in the air as he thought how best to reply. “That’s lovely of her, wanting to be there for you like that. I’m not sure most teenagers would even care to get involved.” 

“Mmmm,” Geralt hummed in agreement, looking around to survey what appeared to be Jaskier’s entire wardrobe covering almost every inch of available space. “She’s a good kid. It’s the first summer with just the two of us, so she’s really fired up about it. I want her to be comfortable and adjust to the new arrangements, so I’m doing my best to accommodate.” Geralt gestured casually to his partially ruined ensemble. 

_Aha, w_ _ell,_ _that_ _answers a few questions_ _._ _Single dad,_ _certainly makes things_ _slightly_ _less awkward_ _given his previous_ _comments_. _Small blessings._ Jaskier decided a calculated risk was in order. “I must say her efforts have clearly paid off. You look a different man from earlier. In fact, I’m rather fond of this version. I particularly like that silver chain. It’s a nice touch, she has great taste.” Jaskier didn’t dare turn his head, but he did glance out of the corner of his eye just in time to catch the faintest smile slip across the older man’s incredibly inviting lips. 

Geralt laughed unexpectedly, “What? Was the ‘local drifter who bothers people outside of the shops’ look not to your liking?” 

Jaskier coughed, nearly choking on his own saliva. Sounds began to form in his throat, but he couldn’t produce anything even remotely resembling a word. 

“Relax,” Geralt teased, elbowing Jaskier in the side. “Just giving it like I got earlier. I have to admit I am slightly surprised you had the balls to call me out when your room looks like this.” 

“I never called you a drifter!” Jaskier blurted out, surprised at how childish he sounded. “Implied beach bum _maybe_ , but really it was just my poor attempt at teasing.” 

“Mmmhmm.” Geralt’s voice rumbled softly, almost like a purr. Jaskier felt the tension in his muscles begin to melt away like snow under the morning sun. “So, these sweatpants, are you sure you can find them?” 

“I’ll have you know I have a method to my madness. I know exactly where everything is 70 percent of the time.” 

Geralt suppressed a laugh as Jaskier slipped past to sidestep a floor lamp, a pile of shoes, and a large stuffed bear to make his way to a stack of boxes in the corner. “Ta-da!” Jaskier boasted, picking up a loosely taped cardboard box before making his way back to Geralt. 

“Should I be concerned that the box is labeled ‘Netflix & Chill’ or did you purposely label everything vaguely for theft prevention?” Geralt smirked, taking the box Jaskier was holding out in front of him. 

“My attempts at humor know no bounds,” Jaskier beamed, smiling suggestively before catching himself getting too comfortable with the man he had only recently met. “I’m going to head back downstairs to finish up with Ciri, help yourself to whatever you find. I’m pretty sure at least one thing in there will fit.” 

Geralt pulled back the flaps of the brown box and peered inside, wrinkling his nose at his findings. Thinking Julian was out of earshot, he mumbled to himself, “These are some of the most obnoxious sweatpants I’ve ever seen.” 

Jaskier’s hearing proved exceptional considering he was halfway down the stairs when he turned around and quipped back, “I said guilty pleasure, Geralt, not high fashion.” 

Geralt felt his heart skip a beat, unsure if it was from being overheard and called out or the lilt of Julian’s voice just had that effect. Either way, the reaction wasn’t one he expected or was ready to address so he pushed it aside for the task at hand – get tidied up and get the hell out of dodge before something else goes wrong. He was done with this day. 

* * *

“You look like a traffic cone,” Ciri chuckled, doing her best not to move as Jaskier finished up her trim. 

“Thanks. It’s a lovely shade don’t you think?” Geralt replied sarcastically, doing a pageant style spin just to be a little snotty. “It was hard to decide between reflective orange and sequins, but in the end, these were the only ones that actually fit.” 

“I’ll have you know; those were a gag gift for graduation that I couldn’t bear to part with,” Jaskier huffed, waving his hand dismissively while sneaking another glance at Geralt in the mirror. “Plus, you might actually thank me if you decide to go for a night jog.” 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Ciri interrupted, getting the distinct feeling the war of words might continue far longer than she cared to listen. “What do you think, dad?” Jaskier carefully removed Ciri’s cape and spun the chair around for Geralt to give his opinion. 

“It looks great, mo- sweetheart,” Geralt corrected, lest he face a certain death later at home. “Makes me want to cut mine short for summer too.” 

Jaskier felt his body heat up and his fingers tingle at the thought of cutting Geralt’s hair. Ideas were racing through his head faster than he could keep up with. He sensed his professional passion mixed with a dash of personal desire could form a dangerous combination if left unchecked, so he pushed it to the backburner of his consciousness to simmer instead. Jaskier snapped back to himself, swallowing softly as he began sweeping up the tufts of blonde hair scattered across the floor, doing his best to stay out of the conversation at hand. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ciri joked, standing up to get a better look in the mirror, very pleased with Jaskier’s handiwork. “I don’t think you’ve had an actual cut in a couple of years, and don’t even argue that you have because using the junk drawer scissors to cut it yourself in the bathroom mirror doesn’t count.” 

Jaskier winced silently. Geralt was stylist’s worst nightmare. 

“What do you think, Jaskier?” Ciri asked casually, turning around and sticking her tongue out at her father. Jaskier could feel two sets of eyes zero in on him as they waited for his reply. 

_Fuuuuuck_ _._

“Well, I... I mean, I always say it’s completely a matter of personal preference,” Jaskier offered, stumbling over his words to find any that wouldn’t get him in trouble either way. 

“That’s a very diplomatic answer,” Geralt commented, pulling out his wallet to pay for Ciri’s appointment. “Best not to get in the middle of it. She’ll probably wear me down before too long anyway.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh as he took Geralt’s card and swiped it through the square reader on his phone. “If you want a receipt, just type in your number after you sign, and it will text one over.” 

Geralt took the phone and did as instructed, taking what seemed like an eternity before handing it back to the stylist. Jaskier might have been mistaken, but it certainly seemed like Geralt was smiling. 

“Thanks again for letting me borrow these, Julian,” Geralt added, pulling at the sides of the gaudy orange fabric. “I’ll drop them off when I pick up my cleaning, unless you need them back sooner?” 

“Sure thing, happy to help!” Jaskier replied cheerfully, dropping his phone onto the table and returning to his work with the broom and dustpan. “No rush bringing them back. I hardly wear them.” 

“You don’t say,” Geralt teased, giving an exaggerated eye roll for effect as he pushed the salon door open to usher his daughter through. “Alright Ciri, let’s get going. I think we’ll make it to the cleaners before they close if we leave now.” 

Ciri gathered her things and offered a friendly wave to Jaskier from just outside the door, “Thanks again for everything! I’ll see you in a month or two for a touch up.” 

“You’re most welcome! I’m looking forward to see you _both_ again,” Jaskier replied with a clever smile, meeting Geralt’s eyes, and hoping his emphasis on the word ‘both’ had been appropriately noted. 

Geralt immediately broke eye contact and ducked his head letting Jaskier know the message had been received. What exactly that message was, he couldn’t be sure, but whatever it was left far more questions than answers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are lovely, if you feel so inclined, or come say hi over on [tumblr](https://dandeliondidit.tumblr.com).  
>   
> All the love to my dear, [elviehun](https://elviehun.tumblr.com), for the beta.  
>   
> UPDATE! The lovely [behind-the-sin](https://behind-the-sin.tumblr.com) has created some fabulous art inspired by this chapter! Check it out [here](https://64.media.tumblr.com/c7b5b332525fb5e0f1040837d950a488/024aa1384bf5d340-0c/s1280x1920/815ea71cb0682272a68cf2633129633283536d5c.jpg)! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt’s brain spun in circles as he thought about the whole thing. It wasn’t Julian’s fault he’d spilled the coffee all over himself, well, technically it _was_ his fault but that’s another story. If anything, Geralt was the one that was indebted to Julian after the disaster that was last Saturday. He had tried his best not to think about it, but Milva’s prodding, along with some slightly telling photos, reignited a flame within Geralt that he'd been doing his best to snuff out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Jaskier is singing in this chapter is "White Whale" by Brendan James. If you haven't heard it, it's a lovely song and I highly recommend you check it out!

“I heard you had an interesting weekend,” Milva teased, smiling smugly at Geralt the moment he walked through the door of the vet clinic. She could barely make out the outline of his eyes, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the all too familiar look of annoyance hiding just on the other side of his aviator sunglasses. “Good morning by the way.” 

“Haha.” Geralt walked past the front desk toward his office, pulling his glasses off and letting his eyes adjust to the indoor lighting, offering a playfully dismissive wave on the way. “It’s way too early for whatever you're planning for this conversation to be.” He sighed to himself as he listened to Milva laugh under her breath as he walked away. 

The morning had started earlier than usual with Geralt dropping Ciri off at riding camp for the week. He wished they had more time together before summer activities started, but it was the only week they were offering advanced lessons this summer, so there was nothing to be done about it. Ciri began riding in kindergarten and took to the sport in no time, exhibiting an innate talent for handling horses. All these years and lessons later, she was turning into quite the professional young rider. Geralt beamed with pride at the thought of passing his love for animals on to his daughter. 

“So...” Milva started, leaning casually against the doorframe of Geralt’s office. “Want to talk about it?” 

“Sure,” Geralt agreed, flipping his laptop open and powering it on before taking a sip of coffee. “Ciri said to say hi and that she’d see you next week after she finished with camp.” 

Milva tilted her head to the side and gave Geralt a look that said ‘you’re a little shit’ without the effort of having to verbalize it. “You know that wasn’t what I was talking about and don’t pretend otherwise.” 

“Do I?” Geralt grinned mischievously. Milva could see the corner of his lips turn up over the edge of the coffee cup as he took another slow sip from his favorite tumbler, a gift from Eskel, featuring the phrase “whatever floats your goat”. 

“You know damn well I’m talking about the trip to the hair salon with Ciri.” 

“Uh-hmm,” Geralt hummed, setting his cup down and reclining in his chair. “Let me guess... Ciri couldn’t wait to fill you in, so she called before she left for camp?” 

“Can you blame her?” Milva smiled, walking over and plopping herself down in the chair on the opposite side of Geralt’s desk. “I hear it was a pretty eventful outing. I even got a picture. Well, _pictures_ , actually.” 

“Excuse me?” Geralt sputtered, thankful his mouth wasn’t full of coffee at that moment. “What do you mean pictures? Show me.” 

“Oh no, no, no,” Milva tsked, wagging her finger in refusal. “I want to hear what happened from you first, then I’ll show you the goods. You’re as stubborn as a mule, so dangling a carrot is a must for getting what I want first.” 

“Fine,” Geralt huffed, glancing up to check the time on the dog-shaped clock that decorated the wall of his office. “But you better not be lying about the pictures just to get me to tell you what you already know.” 

His stubbornness could never win out in the face of Milva’s resolve. There was no reason not to share the innocuous events of Saturday, but he felt hesitant, nonetheless. Milva could always read him like a book, despite his best efforts to glue the pages shut and seal his secrets inside. Geralt didn’t trust himself to tell the story without conveying the subtext hidden beneath. Milva knew him too well and he wasn’t sure he was prepared to listen to her interpretation of the story. 

“Promise.” Milva curled her pinky finger in the air to signal her honesty. “Besides, I’m not trying to find out what I already know. I’m trying to gauge how you feel about what I already know.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Geralt confessed, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “There’s really not much to tell. I took Ciri to her hair appointment and it turns out the stylist there is the same guy I met that morning on the beach while walking Roach. I’m sure Ciri told you about that too because she laughed her ass off when I told her. There’s no way she kept that to herself. Anyway, it was such a surprise to run into the guy again that I dropped my coffee and spilled it all over myself and the salon floor. I ended up borrowing a pair of sweatpants from him so I could take my pants to the cleaners. The end.”

“Ummm hmmm” Milva hummed, eyeing Geralt as he hurried through the retelling as if it physically hurt to recall the events. “You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you speak so quickly in your life.” 

Geralt couldn’t hide his annoyance at her spot-on assessment, but he stayed silent so as not to take the bait and allow Milva to goad him into saying something stupid. 

“That’s what I thought,” Milva commented, taking a moment to pause and examine her nails for dramatic effect. “You’re not one to easily startle and you’re not particularity clumsy, so that explanation is a bit curious to me. You do, however, get all kinds of awkward when you’re nervous. Now why would that be?” 

Geralt glanced away instantly, confirming that Milva hit the nail on the head. He caught himself, but the damage was already done. 

“Aha!” Milva chirped, pointing at Geralt as if she’d just scored a bullseye. “There we go. The truth comes out in the end. Something happened.” 

“That was it, that’s what happened at the salon, end of story. Nothing more, nothing less.” Geralt felt confident in his reply, the truth nestled in the semantics of ‘at the salon’. 

“I see,” Milva conceded, occupying herself with her phone momentarily before presenting the first photo to Geralt as a reward for playing along. 

Geralt looked dumbfounded as he took a minute to process the image in front of him. Ciri certainly was stealthy with the camera. The photo staring him in the face was that of himself and Julian crouched in the floor wiping up the spilled coffee. Nothing to see there, except the slight bit about Geralt blushing and grinning like a fool as he stared fondly at the top of Julian’s head. Geralt swallowed softly, he didn’t remember the exact chain of events because everything had happened so quickly, but the shade of pink dusting his cheeks in the photograph said it was probably right after Julian had said his clothes were lovely. Geralt shifted his gaze to the desk and silence filled the room. 

“Nothing more, nothing less?” Milva added as she swiped to the next photo from Ciri.

Geralt was once again confronted with a perfectly timed photo from his daughter, this time showcasing his foray into the world of gaudy sweatpants. This one appeared to have been taken just after he came downstairs. Ciri had taken the photo in the mirror to capture Geralt behind her, knowing Milva would want to see the infamous pants but that her father would never willingly take a photo in them. Geralt made a mental note in case he ever needed a private investigator because he sure as hell never saw Ciri take that picture either. At first glance, the horrible orange pants took center stage, but closer inspection showed that the devil was in the details. Julian’s face was nestled in the corner of the photograph, eyes cast toward the mirror, clearly focused on Geralt’s reflection. His features were soft, an adoring smile painted across his handsome face. He was _beaming_. Geralt felt his chest tighten as he blinked a few times and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 

The office doorbell chimed, startling the pair of friends from their near silent exchange of the last few minutes. 

“Saved by the bell,” Milva commented, extracting herself from the chair to head out front and greet the first patient of the day. “Luck always finds a way with you, doesn’t it?” 

“If it wasn’t for dumb luck, I’d have none.” Geralt laughed nervously, smoothing his hair down and tightening his ponytail to help burn some of his excess energy. He shifted his focus to his laptop and quickly typed in his password before looking back at his friend. 

Milva smiled softly, pausing once again to lean against the doorframe on her way out of the office. “Listen, you’re one of my nearest and dearest friends, and I love you like my own flesh and blood. I don’t want to push, so I’m going to leave it at that. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” 

Geralt simply nodded, a silent agreement. He would first need to figure out whatever it was himself before he had a hope of managing to talk to Milva about it. 

* * *

Ciri had already been at camp for a few days when Geralt felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He’d made a special effort not to misplace it while Ciri was away in case of an emergency, not to mention he looked forward to the daily text updates that she sent to keep him apprised of the latest happenings at camp (cute pictures of horses included). Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Geralt felt his heart swell with love knowing the texts were her way of making sure he didn’t worry himself too much while she was away. Unfortunately, he found the notification wasn’t from Ciri at all, but a text from the dry cleaner informing him that his cleaning was ready to be picked up. While he would never admit it out loud, especially to Ciri, he did rather appreciate the small conveniences that his cell phone provided - texts that reminded him of things he would have otherwise easily forgotten being one of them. A quick glance at his watch showed that he’d have plenty of time to grab it on the way home. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do since Ciri wasn’t there waiting for him. 

Geralt tidied the last few things in the office, threw his stuff into his bag, and checked the schedule for the following day. Milva always printed a copy to put on his desk before leaving in the afternoon, her foolproof way of preventing him from blaming technology for being late. As much as she would love to tease him, she wasn’t about to inconvenience the patients to do so, she’d save her jabs for all the other opportunities Geralt provided. He didn’t like to think himself an easy target, but he’d known Milva long enough to prove he was exactly that many times over. He smiled as he left the office and locked the door behind him. 

* * *

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Geralt stared at the shop attendant, confusion spreading across his face as she held out the hanger holding his freshly pressed pants covered with a protective plastic sheet. “What do you mean I don’t owe you anything?” 

“No charge, it’s already been taken care of, honey,” the older lady with gray hair and a soothing grandmotherly voice repeated, smiling as she hooked the hanger around Geralt’s proffered fingers. “That sweetheart from down the street came in two days ago and took care of it when he was dropping off his wash for the salon.” 

“I... I don’t, I mean, why?” Geralt sputtered, falling over his words as his brain struggled to process what had happened. “He just paid for it. Didn’t say anything?” 

“Well, darling, I didn’t ask. I figured the person he was paying for would have some inkling as to why he would do that for them, but from the look on your face, I'm guessing not.” 

He didn’t, really. Geralt’s brain spun in circles as he thought about the whole thing. It wasn’t Julian’s fault he’d spilled the coffee all over himself, well, technically it _was_ his fault but that’s another story. If anything, Geralt was the one that was indebted to Julian after the disaster that was last Saturday. He had tried his best not to think about it, but Milva’s prodding, along with some slightly telling photos, reignited a flame within Geralt that he'd been doing his best to snuff out. 

“I’m not entirely sure, but I do appreciate it,” Geralt conceded, offering a gracious smile as he gestured to the pants with his free hand, “and thank you again, you truly are a miracle worker.” 

“You’re very welcome. I’m happy to help.” A cheerful smile spread across the woman’s face, bringing out well-worn lines that carried a lifetime of living with them. 

“Have a nice day,” Geralt offered in return as he made his way to the exit. 

“You too, and don’t worry darling, he’ll still be in the salon for at least another half hour or so. When you see him, please tell him that ‘Mignole says hello’.” 

Geralt turned back as he pushed the door open, looking perplexed and feeling completely exposed, unsure how to respond. In the gap of silence, Mignole chuckled softly, loosely covering her mouth with her hand to hide her amusement. 

“How did you...” Geralt trailed off, words escaping him. 

“When you get to be my age, dear, you just do. There are bits and pieces of life you collect along the way that occasionally come in handy.” 

A silent nod was all Geralt could manage, but he knew his meaning had been conveyed. 

* * *

Geralt was almost all the way to the salon when panic set in. His initial plan was to stop in, say “thank you”, and leave. Simple. He could handle simple. That was until he started planning the conversation in his head, and what seemed simple at first morphed into overly complicated mess. He paced back and forth for a minute (or five), tempted to abandon the endeavor completely before steeling his resolve and continuing, stopping just short of the door to the salon. He took a quick glance inside and noticed Julian appeared to be finishing up with a client. It was getting late, probably his last appointment of the day. Geralt weighed the ease of popping his head in, saying his “thank you”, and being on his way against the rudeness of interrupting Julian’s appointment. He determined that he didn’t want to come off as an asshole just to take the easy way out. Dry cleaning still in hand, he did an about-face and headed back to his truck for a quick drop off, ten minutes at best, plenty of time to allow Julian to finish up. 

On his way back from the parking lot, Geralt passed by the lady he had seen inside The Chameleon just minutes before, silently proud that his timing had worked out nicely. Somewhere along the journey to the parking lot and back he had managed to shake off his uncertainties and convince himself everything would be fine. _Simple, keep it simple._ As he approached the salon for the second time, he could hear music growing louder the closer he got to the door. Curious, he paused briefly to listen to the sounds radiating through the glass storefront, stopping dead in his tracks with his hand on the doorhandle, listening as a familiar voice joined with the music.

_You cannot imagine the weight on my shoulders I feel tonight_  
_I wanna be someone who knows in their heart that they're doing it right_  
_Walking around, feet on the ground, looking for sounds_  
_Catching a break, riding the wave, watching it fade away_

Geralt felt his breath hitch and his eyes widen as he listened to Julian’s voice floating through the air, blanketing him with a feeling like that of a warm embrace by a roaring fire. His voice was beautiful, vibrant yet soulful, with an undercurrent of pain breaking beneath the surface. He watched in awe as Julian danced around the now dimly lit salon like no one could see him, sweeping up hair with a long-handled push broom, and singing like no one was listening. 

_Baby, what I've been looking for_  
_Is that white whale on the ocean floor_  
_Baby, what I've been seeking out_  
_Is that wisdom I was wise without_  
_Maybe what I've been looking for_  
_Is that new life on another shore_  
_Or maybe it's someone to love_  
_Yeah, maybe it's someone to love_

Julian’s voice was soothing in a way that made Geralt’s skin tingle and his heart skip a beat. As he listened, he could feel his pulse quicken to the point that he thought his heart would burst from his chest and make a grand escape. Although his voyeurism was purely incidental, he had the suspicion that anyone passing by would likely not see it that way. Geralt suddenly felt caught between the decision to back away or barge in, both having their own consequences. Before he had time to dither, Julian made the decision for him. The stylist spun around to pick up the dustpan, dropped the broom handle, and screamed like the victim in a horror movie. Geralt’s stomach leapt into his throat and he jumped reflexively, completely caught off guard by being discovered. Quickly realizing an explanation was in order, he gathered his courage and stepped inside. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. I just... I, um... I didn't want to interrupt, but then I was standing there and you...” Geralt grimaced, words escaping him once again in Julian’s presence. 

Jaskier laughed - a loud, boisterous belly laugh that instantly put a smile on Geralt’s face. He took a moment to get it all out of his system before composing himself enough to speak. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Geralt. It’s not good for my health,” Jaskier grinned, wiping tiny bits of water from the corners of his eyes. “It would also be nice if all of our conversations didn’t start with you apologizing to me.” 

“I’m sorry.” Geralt spoke before he could catch himself, wrinkling his nose at the misstep. “I just, I... I wanted to swing by and say thank you for picking up the tab on my dry cleaning. You really didn’t have to, and I honestly don’t know why you did, but I appreciate it.” 

Jaskier just smiled - a brilliant, beautiful smile that calmed Geralt’s nerves and relaxed the tension in his muscles. “You’re most welcome. If you’d like to make it up to me, I hear there’s a fabulous coffee shop just down the way.” 

Geralt tilted his head slightly, confusion spreading across his face as he turned a thought over in his mind. _Had this been Julian’s plan all along or a spur of the moment decision?_ Either way took guts, and Geralt was impressed. Deciding it was time for a little courage of his own, and before he could convince himself otherwise, he blurted out, “Only if I’m buying.” Geralt watched as Julian's eyebrows quirked up ever so slightly with interest, and a sly grin tugged at the corner of his lips. He had thoroughly enjoyed that answer.

“Deal.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to drop me your thoughts or just say hi here or over on [tumblr](https://dandeliondidit.tumblr.com).  
>   
> Hugs and kisses to [elviehun](https://elviehun.tumblr.com), for the beta. <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier picked at the edge of the table, examining it as if it were the most interesting thing on the planet, afraid to meet Geralt’s eyes to gauge his reaction. He knew he was rambling, chasing words, trying to impress. He’d invited Geralt here on a whim with no real plan and now reality was setting in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's finally 2021! Hope everyone had a Happy New Year!
> 
> Between the madness of the holidays and this chapter fighting me like a cat in a bathtub, this update took forever. Apologies for the delay, but it's here now and progress is being made! The next chapter has been brewing for some time, so it shouldn't be as long for the next update. *fingers crossed*
> 
> NOTE: As the story develops, there will be some things happening/characters appearing that I want to keep a surprise for sake of the plot. I will not be adding them to the fic tags for this reason. None of the content should be of concern, so fret not. If there is something I feel needs to be mentioned, I'll put it in the notes beforehand.

The coffee shop was a quaint little place, just a stone's throw from The Chameleon. Nestled on the corner of the same block, Coffee an Craite had been around since the early days of downtown, serving as a meetup spot for many of the locals. Tourists typically stuck to the familiar chain store a few streets over for their brew, giving the family run shop a relaxing hometown feel. Although Geralt had only begun frequenting the small café since his move to town, he had known its owner, Crach, for many years. Having been a staple at the establishment since it opened, the boisterous old man shocked everyone by announcing his retirement the year prior. When Crach told him of his retirement plans, Geralt wasn’t particularly surprised that he had chosen his daughter, Cerys, to take over in his stead. She was as feisty as they come and could rival any man when it came down to it. In equal measure, she was confident, reliable, and more than capable of running the business just as well, if not better than her father. Cerys was not only capable, but she was kind and witty, and enjoyed regaling customers with tales inherited from her father about the old country. Geralt didn’t think it was possible, but she even managed to tell him a few stories he hadn’t already heard from Crach over the years. Her storytelling was always entertaining, so much so, he found himself enjoying her company as much, if not more, than the coffee. 

“You know, I’ve never actually been in here before,” Jaskier admitted sheepishly, looking around to get a feel for the café. It was rustic and well-worn, but full of personality from wall to wall. A Viking helmet, a drinking horn, and a stuffed moose rounded out the décor in a weird, yet oddly appropriate way. In fact, the place looked a bit more like a tavern than a coffee shop, if he was being honest. “It’s cozy, has a nice relaxing ambiance. An interesting change of pace from the usual fare.” 

“It’s probably a good thing my office isn’t within walking distance. If I worked this close by, I would be in here every day,” Geralt conceded, gesturing Julian toward the counter. “Best coffee in the county.” 

“Geralt!” A loud, cheerful voice boomed from behind the counter. “Back so soon? I didn’t expect to see you in here for at least another week or so.” 

“Nice to see you too, Cerys,” Geralt smiled, tipping his head towards the fiery redhead walking over to take their order. 

“Who’s this you’ve got with you?” Cerys paused, grinning slightly as she gave Jaskier a purposefully noticeable once-over. Haven’t seen him around, and I see everyone around. Easy on the eyes, too.” 

Jaskier blushed at the complement while stepping forward to extend his hand across the counter. “Jaskier. Nice to meet you, Cerys, was it? Technically, I’m your new neighbor. Well, down the block actually, but close enough. I own the new salon at the other end of the street, The Chameleon.” 

“Nice to meet you, too,” Cerys chuckled, reaching out to greet Jaskier with a firm handshake. “You seem quite the talker. What are you doing with Geralt?” 

“Pffftt,” Jaskier snorted, looking over at his companion and finding only a blank stare in return. “You see, it’s actually a funny story. We were-” 

“Just stopping in for coffee,” Geralt interrupted, doing his best to head off one of Julian’s rambling explanations in the hopes of avoiding any potential embarrassment that would prevent him from showing his face in the café again. “I’ll just have my usual, please, Cerys. I’m buying, so whatever he wants is on me.” 

“Are you now?” Cerys asked, a sly undertone in her voice, eyebrow raised with curiosity as she cocked her head to the side, more carefully evaluating Geralt’s new acquaintance. “So what are you in the mood for, mister new in town?” 

Jaskier laughed at her playfulness. “Chamomile tea, please, if you have it.” 

“Actually, I do. I keep a small stash for a couple of my regulars that like it,” Cerys confirmed, adding a wink for good measure. 

“Sounds lovely, thank you.” 

Geralt paid and escorted Julian toward his usual spot in the café - a small, comfortable booth in the back corner. When Cerys was busy and not chatting his ear off at the counter, he enjoyed the seclusion and quiet of the tiny table tucked in the back away from the comings and goings of the much-frequented café. 

“Not much of a coffee drinker?” Geralt asked as he slipped into the seat across from Julian, finding a sudden need to fill the silence that had snuck in around them. 

“Ah, not anymore actually.” 

“Interesting, considering you were the one that suggested it.” 

“Well, I just...” Jaskier started, fumbling nervously over his words. “Before, in the salon, with the coffee. I mean... you obviously drink it, so I thought you’d like the idea.” 

“I did.” Geralt commented - straight and to the point. Nothing more, nothing less. Julian’s thoughtfulness had taken him by such surprise that he was unable to manage anything better and felt like an ass for it. 

Jaskier could feel his cheeks heat up a bit at the older man’s words. _Geralt_ _actually liked_ _the idea._ _He hadn’t just been going along with it, but he liked it._ Jaskier caught himself staring like a deer in headlights and took a beat to steady his voice to speak before awkwardness set in again. “Don’t get me wrong. I love the stuff, a little too much actually. Fancy frappés with an extra shot of espresso that look far more like milkshakes than coffee used to be my guilty pleasure.” 

A smile tugged at the corner of Geralt’s lips as he thought about how Julian’s drink of choice seemed like a description of the man himself – overly indulgent with an extra kick. The thought made him feel a bit playful. “Just had a change of heart?” 

“More like a change of waistline, actually,” Jaskier confessed, patting humorously on his stomach for effect. Geralt’s eyes drifted down to Julian’s abs as his mind rewound itself to the day they met on the beach. Julian, shirtless, the humidity and sweat clinging to his lightly bronzed skin in the early morning sun, nothing but toned muscle and a faint line of hair trailing toward the waistband of his form fitting running shorts. Geralt felt his throat go dry and swallowed softly. Unable to catch any of the words floating through his mind, he settled on a simple hum and a nod, hoping that Julian would fill in the awkward silence while he composed himself, and was relieved when he did. 

“To be honest, my work schedule used to be rather hectic most days. For a long time, I convinced myself that caffeine kept me going, even though I knew it was just a vicious cycle I was too lazy to break,” Jaskier paused, nervously looking up at Geralt and realizing the older man seemed interested, wanted him to continue. “One day, I realized my 30...ish year old self was drinking far too much for my own good and decided to give it up. One nicely timed New Year’s resolution, many headaches, and several irritating weeks later, I managed to wean myself off. It was a hard habit to break, for sure, but I’m better for it.” 

Jaskier picked at the edge of the table, examining it as if it were the most interesting thing on the planet, afraid to meet Geralt’s eyes to gauge his reaction. He knew he was rambling, chasing words, trying to impress. He’d invited Geralt here on a whim with no real plan and now reality was setting in. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be here, on the contrary, Jaskier very much wanted to be here. He just wasn’t sure how exactly to go about making sure their impromptu “date” didn’t turn into an unmitigated disaster. He was usually self-assured, sometimes to a fault, but something about the older man made him lose all sense of himself. Was he being annoying? Did the man even like him or was he simply putting up with him? Geralt was nearly impossible to read. 

“I’m surprised,” Geralt conceded, after a moment of thought. The lilt of his voice was lighter, almost relieved somehow. 

Jaskier’s eyes shot up from the table to find a warm, half-smile gracing Geralt’s ruggedly handsome face. An ever-so-faint five o’clock shadow had begun to settle itself along the slope of his well-defined jawline and Jaskier felt himself staring again. 

“That I’d want to give it up?” Jaskier grinned, scratching lightly at his nape, casually shifting his focus in an attempt not to be so obvious in his adoration. “It was no fun, that’s for sure, but trust me it’s best that I’ve left it behind. I’m naturally a bit high energy, you may have noticed, so you can imagine me with caffeine coursing through my veins.” 

“No, that you are in your thirties. I would have guessed early twenties.” Geralt confessed, looking up to see Julian’s brilliant blue eyes grow wide at his response. He watched as the younger man’s perfectly pink lips parted ever so slightly, and for once no words escaping them. Geralt caught sight of Cerys approaching with their drinks and knowing they would be interrupted, took one step outside of his usual comfort zone. “Now I don’t feel so bad.” 

Jaskier blinked, his mind stopping to readjust to the new course of the conversation. Geralt had been thinking about his age. _What_ _._ _T_ _he_ _._ _F_ _uck_ _._ _Besides_ _,_ _what was there to feel bad_ _about._ He felt himself startle as Cerys walked past, brushing lightly against his shoulder as she reached over to hand Geralt his cup of coffee. Jaskier took the opportunity to readjust in his seat in an attempt to play off the flinching he was sure Geralt must have noticed. 

“Thanks,” Geralt smiled, carefully taking the coffee cup and setting it down before he had the chance to drop it. “I could have come up and gotten it. You should have just yelled like usual.” 

“I didn’t want to spook you when you were actually talking.” Cerys teased, winking at Jaskier as she handed him his cup of tea. “He doesn’t do that much you know,” she added, reaching over to squeeze Geralt’s shoulder affectionately before walking away. 

Momentarily caught off-guard by Cerys’ innuendo, Jaskier turned around to offer a cheerful “thank you” just in time not to be considered rude. A wave of her hand and playful wiggle of her fingers let Jaskier know he had been heard. He couldn’t help but smile. 

Geralt took a slow sip from his much too hot coffee, stretching out the moment to pull himself back from the embarrassment he felt creeping in as Cerys’ words settled over the table. 

“Everyone says that...” Jaskier broke the silence, feeling Geralt’s nervous energy rolling off in waves. “Most people tell me that I look much younger than I actually am.” Geralt looked up from his cup, tentatively testing out brief moments of eye contact before taking an unusual interest in stirring his coffee. “It’s the baby face. Gets them every time. Not to brag, but I may have won a prize or two from those carnival guessing games thanks to it.” 

Geralt laughed - an unexpected, honest laugh that made Julian laugh as well. He had never been so glad not to have a mouthful of coffee as he was at that moment. 

The sudden burst of laughter drew a curious eye from Cerys, but Geralt knew she wouldn’t interrupt them again. He could feel the mood lighten and any tension he was carrying start to slip away as Julian’s natural charm radiated throughout their little corner of the café. 

“You know, I wanted to ask you,” Geralt started before pausing to take another sip to give himself a moment to phrase his question. “I noticed you introduced yourself as Jaskier to Ciri and Cerys, but when we met on the beach for the first time you told me your name was Julian. Did I mishear? You haven't corrected me.” 

Jaskier chewed lightly on his bottom lip, unsure how best to explain himself. He was certain the question had been coming since the moment Geralt unexpectedly walked into his salon the week before. You would think in the span of time since then he would have taken time to prepare the perfect answer, but no. Honestly, he was surprised the other man hadn’t asked sooner. He probably felt awkward about it too. Jaskier felt like he had been caught in a lie he didn’t tell. His name was Julian. His name since birth. Julian was name he attached to his life before, the name he left behind along with the life that had been defined for him, not the one he had chosen. Jaskier, that was _his_ name, the name _he_ had chosen, the name that defined his path forward. His new life. His now. 

“I’m sorry.” Geralt added after the silence lingered longer than he was comfortable with. “I didn’t mean to... did I upset you? I just...” 

Jaskier snapped back to the conversation, suddenly realizing that Geralt was talking. He had lost himself in his own stream of consciousness. 

“Oh no... no, not at all,” Jaskier reassured softly, glancing up and meeting Geralt’s concerned eyes. “I’m the one that should be sorry. I’ve made this awkward... my name _is_ Julian. I mean, my given name. Jaskier is what I go by, what I prefer. I think that day on the beach I was a little surprised in meeting you and my brain just defaulted to factory settings.” A nervous laugh escaped his lips despite his best attempt to contain it. “Truth be told, no one but my family calls me Julian anymore.” 

“Jaskier it is then.” Geralt chimed in, voice calm and reassuring, a comforting smile adorning his face. “No apology needed.” 

Jaskier felt the uncertainty he had been harboring begin to melt away as embers of warmth and desire grew into a noticeable flame within him. Small measures had never been his forte and with the last vestiges of self-doubt slipping away, he felt bold. “Honestly, you can call me anything you like as long as you talk to me.” 

Geralt nearly choked on the coffee he was in the process of swallowing. _This man_ _was going to be the death of him._ He grabbed a napkin, not only to wipe his mouth, but also to cover the sly grin he was desperately trying to keep at bay. Jaskier was going to test him, deep down he could feel it. In the span of a couple of weeks, he had already done so more than once and was doing it again now. Geralt felt himself dancing around the outer edges of his comfort zone, toeing the line, but just barely. The man with eyes as blue as the ocean that sparkled like stars had literally run into his life and wouldn’t be leaving any time soon if Geralt had anything to say about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re enjoying the fic, feel free to leave me a comment here or hit me up over on [tumblr](https://dandeliondidit.tumblr.com).  
>   
> Big thanks to [ inexplicifics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexplicifics/pseuds/inexplicifics) for helping me come up with a name for the coffee shop!
> 
> Lots of love for my darling beta, [elviehun](https://elviehun.tumblr.com). You are amazing!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m happy to see you too,” Jaskier chimed in, reaching out to hand Geralt the cup of still slightly warm coffee. He could feel his cheeks heating up as he tried desperately to steady the nervous tremble of his hand. He thought he had mentally prepared enough to drop by unexpectedly, but he had not considered the effect that seeing Geralt in a white doctor’s smock would have on him. “I assure you, no persuasion was needed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well... look who correctly predicted that this update wouldn’t take as long as the last one. *raises hand* I have been looking forward to this chapter for a while and here we are. Do enjoy, and let me know your thoughts!

“Hey old man, Mr. Vivaldi just left with Gwen. I’ve got them scheduled for follow-up next week,” Milva said popping her head into the room where Geralt was busy sanitizing the recently used exam table. “Need any help cleaning up before I head out?”

“Kind of you to offer since I’m stuck here later thanks to you,” Geralt shot back, half-teasing as he looked up to see Milva’s head of mousey brown hair sticking out from the side of the door frame. 

“How so?” Milva asked innocently, only to have Geralt return the question with a look that said ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’. Realizing Geralt intended to continue with the conversation, she stepped inside and propped herself against the door. “Ahhh, I see you gave in... like always.”

“Don’t give me that smug look,” Geralt complained halfheartedly, watching as a shit-eating grin spread across Milva’s face. “No one can say no to Eskel, _you_ included, and don’t pretend otherwise. I guess it’s not _technically_ your fault, but it’s not like you did much to help.”

“Hey, we’re not talking about me here. Plus, what was I supposed to do?” Milva paused briefly before moving past her mostly rhetorical question. “You know Lil’ Bleater is his favorite. How could I possibly talk him out of bringing her in to get checked out when he’s worried?”

“You can’t, apparently. That’s why you passed the buck to me,” Geralt teased, just enough to rile Milva up for making fun of him.

“Hey, I tried. I told him you were booked all week and he’d need to ask you if you could fit him in after work.”

“ _Passing. The. Buck._ ” Geralt emphasized, making each word sound as sarcastic as possible just to be an ass.

“Fine,” Milva conceded, throwing her hands up for effect. “I’ll accept partial blame, _this once_. You know I have trouble saying no.”

“ _To Eskel!_ ” Geralt continued, chucking the dirty sanitizing cloths into the trash bin, having cleaned the exam table to his satisfaction. “You tell _me_ no all the damn time.”

“Just a thought,” Milva offered, tapping her finger on her chin, carefully plotting the best way to take a dig at Geralt. “Could it have anything to do with his charming and endearing personality perhaps? Maybe you could try giving that a shot from time to time?”

A quick glance at one another and the pair burst into laughter, clearly amused by their playful bickering. They allowed themselves to enjoy the emptiness of the office and made no attempt whatsoever to be quiet. Without ever having said as much, they both knew the verbal sparring was proof of their bond - not one born by blood, but one brokered by a lifelong friendship spent trading barbs and simply being there when it was needed the most.

“You know I don’t mind,” Geralt confessed, after their laughter died down. He took a few steps across the room to where Milva was standing and threw his arm around her shoulder to give her an affectionate squeeze. “But at the same time, I’ve had to examine more than a few of his goats because he ‘has a feeling’ or they ‘looked at him funny’ only to find that nothing was wrong.”

“In all fairness, the last time he had you check one of them out, it did have bloat that you had to treat, so...” Milva teased, playfully bumping her hip into Geralt.

“Fine. You win. I now feel sufficiently bad about it,” Geralt grumbled, ushering Milva out of the room towards the front desk. “If you want to make it up to me though, you can swing by the house and drop off some take-out for Ciri. I’m sure she’d appreciate some one-on-one time with you. Although, it’s usually a dangerous proposition for me when you two are left alone.”

“Our best laid plans happen that way.” Milva winked as she grabbed her bag and keys from the counter and headed for the door.

“Your best laid plans usually result in a bunch of unnecessary work for me, but hey, maybe this time you won’t decide another room needs its ‘color scheme updated’.”

Milva turned around and leaned into the office door, pushing it open with her back just so she’d have a free hand to give Geralt the finger on the way out.

* * *

No more than five minutes after Milva left for the day, Geralt heard the door chime from his office. Eskel was a little earlier than expected, but it was no surprise considering how worried he had sounded about Lil’ Bleater when they spoke on the phone. 

“Hey Eskel, I’m in my office,” Geralt shouted, needing a moment to wrap up the note he was working on. “I want to get to a stopping point on this paperwork. Go ahead and take LB into the exam room and I’ll be in there in just a minute.”

“I don’t have an LB or know where the exam room is, but I do come bearing a gift.” 

The voice that called back was smooth and sweet, an unmistakable air of happiness dancing through its tone. More importantly, it was not at all the voice Geralt had been expecting. His heart thumped in his chest as he shot up from his chair and darted into the waiting room. 

“Jaskier?” It took every ounce of control Geralt could muster not to allow his voice to shake like a leaf in a storm. “I... um... hello.” A casual pause. A confused smile. _Play it cool_. “What are you doing here?”

Jaskier simply grinned and held up a to-go paper coffee cup with the Coffee an Craite logo emblazoned across the front.

“Ahh.” Geralt had never considered himself an eloquent man, but in the presence of Jaskier he routinely found himself chasing his thoughts and coming up short. Taking a moment, he gathered his words enough to say the first thing that came to mind. “I hope Cerys didn’t make you drive all the way over here to bring me that.” _Well, fuck, that could have been better_.

“I’m happy to see you too,” Jaskier chimed in, reaching out to hand Geralt the cup of still slightly warm coffee. He could feel his cheeks heating up as he tried desperately to steady the nervous tremble of his hand. He thought he had mentally prepared enough to drop by unexpectedly, but he had not considered the effect that seeing Geralt in a white doctor’s smock would have on him. “I assure you, no persuasion was needed.”

Once again, Geralt appreciated Jaskier’s innate ability to say precisely the perfect thing to save a conversation. He also appreciated the fact that Jaskier seemed to have absolutely no idea how to button the top three buttons of his shirt. He forced himself not to allow his eyes to linger long enough to be considered staring.

“I popped into the coffee shop after work for a cup of chamomile tea and a lovely little chat with Cerys,” Jaskier smiled, flashing his bottomless blue eyes in the most unintentionally seductive way imaginable. “She’s very entertaining, so many stories about the town and its _people_.”

Geralt felt a lump form in his throat as Jaskier’s curious eyes swept over him along with the not entirely subtle insinuation embedded in his last word. Geralt searched for a reply, but found only a hmmm in its place.

“Anyway, while I was there, I _may_ have asked Cerys if she happened to know where your office is and well...” Jaskier’s top teeth tugged lightly on his bottom lip, waiting patiently for a response, any indication that Geralt was happy to see him.

“I see,” Geralt paused, taking a long drag from his newly acquired cup of coffee, desperate to buy himself time to say something more impressive than his previous attempts.

Jaskier watched intently as Geralt’s tongue peeked out to collect a rouge drop of coffee clinging to his lower lip. He felt a pleasant tingle in his abdomen as he imagined that perfectly pink tongue tracing along the tiny trail of hair connecting his navel and his cock. _Shit. Don’t get hard._

The tension was thick and hung in the air like heat on a humid day. Jaskier wasn’t sure he trusted himself to speak again given his current state, and much to his surprise, this time he didn’t have to.

“If I had known you wanted to see me again so soon, I would have come for you - _to you_ , come to you, downtown, I mean I would come downtown again.” _Fuck me_ flashed in bright neon lights inside Geralt’s head. He watched Jaskier’s jaw drop and his eyes turn into saucers at the epic clusterfuck of words that had just come spilling out of his mouth. Geralt took a calming breath before trying to recover from his embarrassment. “All of the restaurants and shops are there, more to do. There’s nothing on this side of town except retirement communities and restaurants only open for brunch.”

Jaskier couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face as he pictured himself and Geralt sitting at a restaurant along the water watching the waves roll in, stealing glances across the table. _Reel it back in, Jaskier. This is not the time._

“Don’t underestimate the power of a good mimosa in the morning,” Jaskier spoke playfully, testing the water. He looked up to meet Geralt’s gaze, finding relief in the crinkled corners of his eyes and the grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

The momentary silence that had settled between them was promptly interrupted by a faint bleating sound coming from just outside the office.

“Is that... was that a goat?” Jaskier chuckled, turning back to look towards the door just in time to see a burly, dark-haired man saunter in carrying a none-to-happy white-haired goat. “I guess that answers my question.”

The man standing before him exuded masculinity in every sense of the word. He was tall, well-built, and ruggedly handsome - not to mention dressed like a lumberjack in summertime. He sported a form-fitting plaid shirt complete with rolled-up sleeves and buttons that threatened to snap off as he flexed to hold his wiggly four-legged friend. The bootcut, dark wash jeans were a bit too tight, but no one with any sense would complain. It was only after giving the man a second glance that Jaskier noticed the prominent scarring that trailed down the right side of his face. The man’s shaggy black hair fell in a way that partially obscured it, but it was no matter. Jaskier had never considered the idea of scars enhancing someone’s attractiveness, but the man standing before him certainly proved it possible.

“Hey Eskel,” Geralt greeted cheerfully, watching with a smile as the grouchy goat chewed on the collar of the man’s shirt. “I see Lil’ Bleater is happy to be here.”

“I told you she’s not right, G. She’s been in a mood for the last few days. Something’s up, I can feel it.” Eskel confessed, wiping his boots on the doormat before giving Jaskier a tiny nod of acknowledgment as he slipped past and set Lil’ Bleater on the floor of the veterinary office.

Jaskier watched Eskel give him a curious side eye as he swooped in and embraced Geralt in the biggest bear hug Jaskier had ever seen two grown man give one another.

“I’m sure she’s fine. I’ll check her out and we’ll get her sorted,” Geralt consoled, looking over Eskel’s shoulder at Jaskier and realized he was being rude. He gave Eskel one last squeeze before stepping back to introduce the two strangers. “Jaskier, this is my brother, Eskel; and that little monster about to chew on your shoelace is one of his goats, Lil’ Bleater. Eskel, this is Ciri’s hair stylist... I mean, well that’s how we met. Actually, that’s not completely accur... damn it, you know what... Eskel, this is Jaskier.”

“You forget how to talk, G?” Eskel laughed, extending his arm towards Jaskier to offer a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Jaskier.”

“Likewise.” Jaskier smiled, returning Eskel’s firm handshake while trying desperately not to blush from sheer embarrassment at the awkwardness of the introduction. “It’s very nice to meet you, Eskel, but I think I should probably get going and leave you two to it.”

“Don’t go on my account.” Eskel reassured with such ease and natural charm that Geralt could hear Milva’s words from earlier echoing in the back corner of his mind. Eskel looked at Geralt hoping he would chime in in agreement, but found his brother doing his best deer-in-headlights impression instead. “My brother’s not usually such a moron, but it seems he’s in rare form today. Please, stay.”

Geralt blew out the breath he had been holding, drawing Jaskier’s attention. Their eyes met for an instant before the tension between them became too much to withstand. Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair, sweeping it back from his face as a distraction.

“No, that’s quite all right. I stopped in unexpectedly. I don’t want to be a bother. Besides, you’ve a lovely goat to attend to.” Jaskier reached down and petted the fluffy white fur that had been insistently brushing against his leg for the last several minutes. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Eskel. I’ll see you around, Geralt.”

“Bye, Jaskier,” Geralt managed, the words finally slipping out just as Jaskier opened the door and stepped outside, “and thanks for the coffee.” He wasn’t sure Jaskier had even heard him, but he pretended he had so he could feel better about the train wreck of a situation.

“What the hell was that?” Eskel asked after allowing a moment for the door to close.

“What do you mean?” Geralt blinked slowly, trying his best to school his features before Eskel pressed further.

“You know damn well what I mean. Jaskier, the man that just left. The one that was here, _with you_ , after hours, _alone_. That was awkward as hell. Well, actually, _you_ were awkward as hell. Why?”

“He brought me coffee.” Geralt explained, gesturing to the cup he had just placed on the counter.

“Ahhhh...” Eskel paused, collecting his thoughts and formulating a plan of attack. No one knew Geralt better, but that being said, special tactics needed to be employed when dealing with the emotionally stunted man’s feelings. “Any particular reason?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Uh huh. I see,” Eskel acknowledged, reaching down and scooping up Lil’ Bleater to comfort her. “Well, that was a pretty shitty way to introduce someone that brought you coffee for no particular reason.”

“I... um.” Geralt stopped, realizing Eskel was right and not wanting to admit it. He pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his face in frustration.

“Words, G... use them,” Eskel reminded gently. He knew Geralt had a tendency to put up walls when his feelings got too intense, trapping himself in a prison of his own making in the process - a defense mechanism Eskel had watched Geralt use time and time again growing up. Through heartache and hardship, he watched as his brother became a master at building seemingly impenetrable defenses. While this often came across as indifference or disinterest to others, Eskel knew it for what it really was - Geralt’s attempt at appearing strong in the face of overwhelming emotions.

“I just... I don’t know, E. He makes my brain shut down when he’s around. He does these things, _nice things_ , for me completely unexpectedly and for absolutely no reason. I’ve never... I haven’t... I have absolutely no idea how to handle it.”

“There we go. Feel better?” Eskel comforted, shuffling closer and nudging Lil’ Bleater into Geralt’s shoulder, eliciting a reluctant smile in return.

“A bit.”

“Good, now while we work out what’s going on with you, let’s have you figure out what’s wrong with LB.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are lovely, if you feel so inclined! I'd love to hear if you liked the chapter. I mean, come on, Lil' Bleater, right? You can catch me over on [tumblr](https://dandeliondidit.tumblr.com) too.  
>   
> Once again, [elviehun](https://elviehun.tumblr.com) did the beta thing and I love her for a million different reasons. 💙

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to drop me a note and let me know your thoughts! You can also find me over on [tumblr](https://dandeliondidit.tumblr.com) rambling about The Witcher and professing my love for Eskel.  
>   
> Big thanks to my darling [elviehun](https://elviehun.tumblr.com) for always putting up with me and being kind enough to beta this mess. Lots of love! <3


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